Broadsword
by Deathworm
Summary: This is my first story and it's about a Broadsword pilot fighting in the Battle for Sirius. Please read and review. Thanks a bundle!


This story is based in the Wing Commander universe. The events are actually taken from William R. Forstchen's 'Fleet Action'. Thanks be to Chris Roberts for creating such a great universe!

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Broadsword

The Word had been all over the ship. And the Word said that they were coming. 

Lieutenant Alfred 'Alf' Simms had been in the squadron ready room when he first heard the news. The Kilrathi main fleet would come to Sirius. Any hopes that Simms had that the Kilrathi would spread out and attack the Inner Worlds was lost.

At first, he had thought it was just rumors and speculation. But that had been yesterday . . .

Minesweepers, frigates and destroyers heralded the arrival of the Kilrathi 'super fleet'. Cruisers came next to secure the jump point in case any Confederation craft tried to wrest back control. 

But the brass had already decided not to contest the jump point. It would be suicide anyway, given the Kilrathi's numerical superiority. Then two hours ago, Tolwyn had ordered the fleet about. After sacrificing three star systems to the Kilrathi after the first meeting engagement at Warsaw, Tolwyn was ready to make his stand.

The pilots aboard _Concordia_, _Verdun_, _Moskva_ and _Leyte Gulf_ had already been put on alert even as the Terran fleet moved to meet the Kilrathi. And all this time, enemy ships continued to pour through the jump point. The arrival of the five _Hakaga_-class supercarriers had confirmed beyond any doubt that Thrakath was coming for Tolwyn.

And amidst all this activity and anxious waiting, Simms had made frequent trips to the head. He had parted company with his breakfast long ago and he still went so as to perform dry heaves in private. 

It wasn't as if he was the only one. Most of the other rookies and even some of the veterans had gone. Others showed obvious signs of anxiety and tension in the ready room was stifling.

Simms knew he was greener than grass. He had arrived aboard _Moskva_ just three days ago as a replacement for a pilot killed at Warsaw. He was a fresh pilot from the Academy with hardly enough sim time. Too many corners had been cut in his training. Three months shy of his nineteenth birthday and already in command of a Broadsword bomber. 

Another pilot, Cameron, who had arrived with him was seated nearby, his face pallid and his lips moving silently in some unknown mantra. His knuckles were white and his fists clenched in a futile effort to stop the trembling. Lieutenant Commander 'Round Top' Chamberlain, the acting CO was perhaps the only calm face in the room. 

Ever since the old CO (whom Simms never met) bought it at Warsaw, Chamberlain had been in command. Chamberlain didn't say much. No one in the squadron really talked much anyway. Right at that point in time, humanity had seemed doomed.

The dreaded call finally came. "All pilots man your ships." Simms had felt his heart stop and a sudden urge to puke again. But he found himself swept by the sudden burst of frenzied activity as pilots slung on their flight gear and made a mad dash to the flight deck. 

__

Moskva had taken a hit in its portside flight bay at Warsaw and even as Simms scrambled towards his ship, he could see the spot where hull plates had been spot welded over the point of impact. The charred remains of two Rapiers that had been undergoing maintenance work at the time of the hit sat forlornly on the deck.

Lieutenant Simms didn't waste anymore time as he scrambled up the access ladder and into the fuselage of his giant bomber. As he began strapping into his seat, he vaguely felt his co-pilot Kellerman throwing herself into her seat and working the straps furiously. 

His three turret gunners were already aboard and the indicator for each gun station winked green as the gunners checked in, reporting their readiness. He heard the crew access hatch seal as the noise from the flight deck suddenly ceased. Looking ahead, he saw the first pair of Rapier G escorts being catapulted into space.

A flight deck director was already signaling to him. _Start engines_. 

"Ok, people," Simms's voice quavered. "We're starting up." 

Both he and his co-pilot ran through the checklist quickly but thoroughly. This was the first time they were flying together and it would be Alfred's first time in the front seat of a Broadsword flying off a carrier.

The engine start-up had been tense enough. But Kellerman had been most helpful and they managed to taxi to the catapults without major incident. Simms watched in awe as the Broadswords before him were slammed out the airlock, their thrusters flaring brightly. 

The thruster blast deflector fell back to the deck and Simms eased his Broadsword forward slowly, deck crews already working hard to hook his ship up for launch. As he stopped some forty meters before the gaping airlock that opened into space, Simms found himself strangely at peace.

But those feeling soon vanished as the blast deflector was erected behind his Broadsword and the launch director gave him the signal to go to full power. The Broadsword may not have been the fastest ship in space, but her engines were amongst the most powerful and when spooled to full military power, they actually trembled.

The roar of engines could be heard even through the canopy and his helmet. He tensed himself for the coming launch. Then the flight director lunged forward, pointing out the airlock. 

Simms and his crew felt the kick of acceleration and a heartbeat later, they were thrusting silently into the void.

The ejection seat straps seem to cut into his shoulders every time he exhaled. Perhaps he had made them a little too tight, Simms thought. The Kilrathi fleet was still out of visual range, but the reports were enough.

Five _Hakaga_ supercarriers were the core of the Kilrathi fleet while another six old-style carriers were held back and countless escorts were in attendance. He may not have been able to see them, but the mere thought that they were out there was enough to strike fear into the hearts of many. Simms was no exception.

The excitement of the launch and forming up had ebbed as they now traveled the inky darkness between the two fleets. Two hundred fifty plus fighters and bombers were arrayed in two large Vees while two hundred and eighty more craft, mostly fighters, had been held back for fleet defense and as a second strike.

"Hey, Alf, you ok, man?" Kellerman said from the backseat. It was the first time she had spoken since they launched. 

"Yeah . . ." Alf lied. Then paused as a shiver ran though his body and he suppress the urge to puke. "Yeah. No problem."

He realized he was beginning to hyperventilate and he forced himself to relax. There was a tingling sensation in his hands and he flexed them to work it out.

"Damn straight, no problem, sir!" that was the rear gunner speaking on the intercom. "Just fly right in with the others and we'll keep the fleabags off us, sir."

"Yeah. Don't worry, boss. There's safety in numbers." Another one of the gunners chimed in.

Glancing out to his left and right, He could see Broadswords in tight formation. Above and below him, the escort force, composed mostly of Rapiers watched over them. Two hundred and fifty craft was perhaps one of the largest strike forces ever assembled in recent memory but it didn't change the fact that the Kilrathi had over a thousand fighters and bombers.

Simms wanted to say something, wanted to thank his crew for their support when Lieutenant Commander Chamberlain's voice barked in his headset. "Enemy carriers ahead! Let's keep it tight, people!"

Alf's heart skipped a beat. On his radar, he could already see a solid wall of red. It was the enemy fleet's vanguard. _Oh_, _my God _. . .

"Goddamn it! The bastards are nuking Gilead!" someone exclaimed over the squadron frequency. Simms looked to his left where Gilead should have been, but the planet was too far away and he could see nothing.

"Cut that chatter!" Chamberlain snapped. "Stay frosty, people!"

Then a new face appeared on the vidscreen. Simms recognized the face as Tolwyn and he gasped. "This is Tolwyn. Good luck to all of you and good hunting."

And then the image was gone. But the channel wasn't quiet for long. Several squadron leaders were calling out reports now. Simms was awed by the sight of scores of Terran fighters rushing to do battle with the Kilrathi forward screen. Rapiers, Ferrets, Raptors, Hornets and Epees were all mixing it up. Violent streams of energy slashed back and forth while the flare of missile thrusters winked all over space, adding to the pinpricks that were stars.

Simms glanced around for a panicked moment, then realized the escorts were still with him. He relaxed. 

"Incoming anti-matter area strike!" the strike force commander, a pilot from the Concordia, warned. "Let's bring it up!"

The lead Broadsword at the tip of the Vee pulled up as sharply as it could and bombers down the lines were following suit. Simms pulled back on the stick then realized for one terrifying moment that he had no idea where the enemy area bombardment missiles were. 

But he didn't get the time to find out. There was a brilliant flash behind him, but no sound. He stole a glance over his shoulder and saw that a number of fighters were gone. Vaporized . . . 

Another flash lit up space behind them and he watch in horror and a seemingly invisible hand picked up on of the Sabres and hurled it into another. Both craft disintegrated spectacularly.

"Eyes front, pilot!" Kellerman snapped. "We've got a job to do!"

Simms nodded and forced himself to look forward. The strike group was nosing 'downward' now, diving through explosions. One Rapier got caught vanishing into the hot ball of an anti-matter explosion.

Simms gulped. His grip on the stick tightened and once more he felt like heaving whatever he had left in his stomach. 

"Fighters! Fighters! Fighters!" someone was yelling. He wasn't even sure if it was one of his crew or another pilot in the strike group. 

__

Where . . . _There_! Hundreds of flecks were closing in from ahead. Then several hundred flaring specks streaked past Simms on all sides. That was when he realized that the oncoming flecks weren't fighters . . .

"Missiles inco . . ." The voice was cut off with sickening abruptness. Hundreds of missiles were streaking in. Amidst the cloud of missile decoys, Kilrathi missiles continued to find their marks. More explosions boiled soundlessly as more and more missiles struck. Four Terran light corvettes that had accompanied the strike force continued to shower all sorts of decoys in an effort to minimize the damage.

Then the Broadsword next to him took one missile hit and it seemed to stagger in mid-flight. Simms recognized the ship as Cameron's, the other rookie. Another missile struck home and then another and another. The heavy bomber's shields collapsed and the armor gave way.

"I'm hit! I'm hit!" Cameron shrieked over the squadron channel as his bomber burst into a million leaf-like fragments. 

"This is Broadsword Nine, I'm hit. I'm hit!" Alf could see another Broadsword having lost the engines on one side, beginning to spin out of control. "Going to punch out . . ."

Simms never got to see whether they ejected or not. Laser beams sliced towards him and his shields flickered as they took hits. The Rapiers that had covered him were now rushing to do battle with the incoming gaggle of Dralthis, Krants and Gratha.

Several fighters from both sides died fiery deaths. Once more the strike commander was speaking. "Close maneuvering scoops! We want those carriers!"

The carriers could finally been seen now. Five behemoths bristling with weaponry and wrapped in mountainous armor.

With scoops retracted, it was going to be one very high speed run. He could hear Kellerman talking to herself as she armed the four torpedoes slung under their bomber's hull. 

"Missiles on our five!" one of the gunners yelled. "Get it! Get it!"

The Broadsword vibrated slightly as the rear gunner fired his twin neutron guns. "Come on . . . come on . . . _YES_! Got it! I've got . . ."

An explosion cut the gunner's voice off and Alf felt his Broadsword shudder violently. He heard the rush of air and he sealed his helmet visor immediately. A spot of crimson floated next to him and he stared at it, puzzled. Unable to resist the urge, he looked over he shoulder and into the rear of his bomber. He wished he didn't.

The rear turret was gone, replaced by a gaping hole. What little remained of the gunner was smeared all over the gunners' compartment. The port gunner was slumped over his turret controls, the rear of his flight suit cut to bloody ribbons. Only the starboard gunner remained and he continued firing despite the fact that his right arm was a bloody stump.

"Watch it! Enemy picket line ahead!" Kellerman's voice brought Simms back to the action. 

Only two of the light corvettes were left though they kept pumping chaff. The line of frigates and destroyers defending the Kilrathis supercarriers fired scores of missiles. Some didn't track. Others did but were decoyed. And still others struck home. More Terran craft died.

"Bombardment groups one and two, take center carrier," said the strike commander. "three and four take the port one. Five and six, go starboard. Standby for deceleration and reverse thrust in ten seconds.

Simms was with bombardment group one and he could already had his target in his sights. It wasn't making any effort to maneuver yet. He checked the range. 900 clicks. His hands were poised over the throttle and scoop controls.

"Three, two, one, decelerate!" 

Simms popped open his manuevering scoops and went into full reverse thrust. He felt himself being thrown forward and he was thankful that his tight seat straps prevented him from going nose first into his instruments. His velocity dropped rapidly till he was at a near standstill (by astronomical standards) just fifty clicks away from his targets.

On his radar screen, the swarm of red blips were closing in. Kellerman was already working his instruments. "We've got initial torpedo lock. Counting now . . . thirty, twenty-nine, twenty eight . . ."

Soon the squadron channel was filled with other voices announcing their lock-on countdowns. Simms could do nothing except wait and pray as they continued to drift towards their target. 

The carrier was massive. Far larger than _Moskva _or _Concordia_. Maybe twice as large. How they were going to hurt something that large was beyond his understanding. A lump grew in his throat and he felt his stomach flipping as their Rapier escorts rushed to stem the tide of Kilrathi fighters. 

"This is Eight! They've got lock . . ."

"I'm burning . . .!"

"Ejec . . ."

Simms watched heartsick as Broadsword after Broadsword was set upon by the Kilrathi. Their gunners hammered out a continuous stream of neutron bolts, some staying in their doomed craft even after their pilots had ejected.

Numerous countdowns were cut off by bursts of static or screams of agony as the Terran strike force died.

"Fifteen . . . fourteen . . .thirteen . . ." Kellerman chanted.

__

Come on . . .! Simms felt ready to burst. He wanted to launch _now_! He had never felt so helpless before. Their remaining gunner continued to fire at any Cat fighter he saw. A Broadsword to his right rolled out of control, numerous panels blowing off, it crew trapped while it burned.

A lone Krant swooped in from the left, its lasers stitching the Broadsword amidships. There was a soft cry from the rear and the neutron guns fell silent. This time, Simms did not look. 

There were only fifteen Broadswords out of the thirty from Bombardment Groups One and Two left. Simms knew that any moment now, he would die. It was funny how he was no longer scared.

"Three . . . two . . . one . . . _It_'_s away_!" Kellerman yelled as she mashed the firing button. There were four 'thumps' as the torpedoes fell away. Immediately, Simms joined the other Broadswords in pulling up so that their bellies faced their torpedoes and their target, laser emitters holding solid connections with their assigned torpedoes.

For the moment, the Broadswords were forgotten as the Kilrathi fighters rushed after the torpedoes. The carrier's weapons joined in and the area around the Kilrathi ship was a scene of carnage and fighters collided with one another as well as torpedoes, as anti-torpedo missiles impacted against the both torpedoes and friendly fighters, as point defense guns dispassionately cut down targets both friend and foe.

"Damn they've got another one of our torps!" Kellerman swore. "We've got one more! Just one more . . ."

Simms knew that Kellerman was struggling to guide their remaining torpedo through the maelstrom of missiles and gunfire. Simms saw a flash of movement to the left. He turned and saw a trio of six-gun Jalthis coming from another part of the battle zone. And they were coming for him.

There was no doubt left in his mind. He would die here. Maybe their last torpedo would hit, maybe it wouldn't. Maybe humanity would prevail today, maybe it wouldn't. If they lost, he should count himself lucky to have been killed in battle. He had heard stories about what the Kilrathi did to prisoners. And the way they were nuking planets, it wasn't like he could escape death anyhow.

The lead Jalthi had already lined up with the Broadsword.

He wished he had taken the time to write home. Wished he had shared one more kiss with his sweetheart. Wished he had actually eaten his favorite ice cream aboard _Moskva_ before he flew. So much to do, yet so little time . . .

The Jalthi's guns were flickering, beams of energy stabbing towards him. He vaguely heard Kellerman screaming about their last torpedo being shot down and that it had all been a waste. It doesn't matter anymore, does it?

A sad smiled creased the young pilot's features. Then for a single scorching moment, Simms felt pain. One merciful second later, Lieutenant Alfred 'Alf' Simms was nothing but a memory.


End file.
